


We Who Are Ever Watchful

by CheckeredCloth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Galra Keith (Voltron), Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheckeredCloth/pseuds/CheckeredCloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For rakukajas, who wanted Hurt!Keith, worried Lance, Love Confessions, and alien DNA revelations:</p><p>"You should rest," the healer continues, and Lance snorts humorlessly.  "And be grateful that his... unique physiology has aided considerably in the healing process."</p><p>Lance lets that statement bounce around in his tired brain for a moment, and something about it doesn't quite sit right.</p><p>"Wait," he murmurs, rubbing a hand over bleary eyes before squinting back up at the healer.  "'Unique physiology?'  What the hell does that mean?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Who Are Ever Watchful

**Author's Note:**

> Take's place in the same universe as "There's That Morning Light," which doesn't need to be read in order to understand this fic. All you need to know is that Keith and Lance are both about twenty-five and have been together a while.
> 
> Dear rakukajas: I hope I did your lovely prompt justice!

When you've been with someone for nearly eight years (through invasions and parades, broken bones and terrifying revelations, long battles and embarrassingly bad performances by alien locals), you start to think that you know them better than you know yourself.

Lance can do better than that: he's pretty sure he knows Keith better than _Keith_ knows himself (which is not surprising, considering Keith is naturally prone to social-obliviousness). For example:

He knows the difference between two, full-on consternated brows and one raised, mildly-confused one; he knows the way Keith likes his coffee, which is dark and sludge-y and terrible because Keith can't make a decent pot to save his life; he knows that if Keith laughs hard enough, he'll snort (and this is not a hard thing for Lance to know, because he'll never. fucking. forget it); and he knows that Keith will do anything, absolutely anything, to protect someone he cares about.

(There are also a few details Lance keeps to himself, like the way Keith's chest heaves and his toes curl when he comes, or how he likes to fuck Lance on his hands and knees but prefers to bottom on his back... Things that aren't really essential to Keith's character but that are nonetheless tattooed on Lance's synapses)

He knows the difference between a Keith who's had a hard knock and one who's in serious trouble.

"I apologize." The healer wanders in periodically to check on them, and, while Lance appreciates the dedication, all it does is remind him that Keith is lying pale and motionless in an alien hospital, completely unresponsive to Lance or any other stimuli. "I know very little of humans, other than that their biology is relatively similar to that of my own race." His voice warbles high and tinny and yet spits out near perfect Standard; a useful effect of the translation chips embedded in Keith and Lance's wrists.

Like Lance's, Keith's chip flashes under his skin in recognition of the alien words, but Keith is unable to appreciate the translation.

Lance scratches tiredly at his unshaven face. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say that we're an accident-prone species."

Ain't that the truth. Three days ago, he and Keith were lazing about in Keith's bed, talking shop about their planned take-down of a small Galra battle cruiser just outside the Nezeria Galaxy; they had no way of knowing that it would be full-on, Kamikaze trap.

The Red Lion (natural vanguard in all battle situations) took the brunt of the damage, and Keith with her: contusions, bruises, and burns shaded the majority of his body, like colored clouds in a sunset. The healing pods were able to fix visible signs of damage to his body, but he still didn't wake up; Coran cited "Unusual brain activity" as the possible explanation.

It was Allura's idea to bring him to Ezeria Vox, a medical way-station planet mostly inhabited by telepathic humanoids.

The healer nods diplomatically, and Lance is brought crashing back to present. "I am beginning to see that. We have healed the majority of the damage, so I imagine that all he requires at this point is time."

Lance wants to believe that, but just looking at Keith's still, peaceful face as he sleeps feels wrong. Even in sleep, Keith isn't peaceful: he tosses and turns and hogs all the blankets and sweats like a motherfucker, and Lance never thought that he'd miss these things so much that his chest aches but he does.

"You should rest," the healer continues, and Lance snorts humorlessly. "And be grateful that his... _unique_ physiology has aided considerably in the healing process."

Lance lets that statement bounce around in his tired brain for a moment, and something about it doesn't quite sit right.

"Wait," he murmurs, rubbing a hand over bleary eyes before squinting back up at the healer. "'Unique physiology?' What the hell does _that_ mean?"

+++

"I don't believe it," Lance whispers, peering up at the doctor's scans in the tiny medical office. His tired legs feel like gelatin, and when the insightful healer proffers a chair he sinks into it gratefully. "Keith's _Galra."_

"Half, I'd say, by the look of his blood."

"I don't believe it," Lance mutters again. But at the same time...

At the same time, he _can_ believe it.

Keith has always been tough, strong, and agile, with an enviable battle-sense and occasionally alarming blood-lust. These are all impressive qualities to have, but they are still undeniably _human_ ones, ones that don't need to be explained away through some mysterious, outside factor.

What no one has ever been able to explain away, not even Lance, is Keith's _instinct:_ Keith has always had a bit of a sixth sense, an uncanny knack for sniffing out trouble even in the most seemingly mundane of situations. Sure, Lance has jokingly chalked it up to paranoia or gas from one of Hunk's dinners, but Keith's "bad feelings" have never failed to save one of their lives in a particularly untenable situation. Usually Lance's.

And Lance is positive that Keith has no idea.

"Get rid of them," Lance demands hoarsely. He stands abruptly, chair jerking back with a loud screech, and begins tearing down all the scans from the wall. "Delete all of it."

To his credit, the doctor doesn't so much as flinch as Lance begins to shred Keith's medical scans with his bare hands, laying chaos to the orderly office. "Destroying it all will not change what's inside him," he says, quietly.

"Do you think I care about that?" Lance hisses, turning a glare on the old man. "It's _them!"_ He points towards the office's locked door, but what he's really seeing are all the hurt refugees and their families who suddenly seem less like victims and more like terrifying unknowns out for Galra blood. "They would go in there and tear him apart if they knew!"

"Perhaps... But perhaps not."

_"No one can know about this."_

And Lance's tone brooks no argument. The old man sighs, four-fingered hands massaging at his temples in an oddly human gesture. "If that is your wish, then you are of course entitled to it." He's wearing a sleek, silvery coat with dozens of little pockets on it, and from one he produces a small metallic disk. "In our city, it is your right as his mate to sign any documents if he is physically or mentally incapacitated."

Lance doesn't hesitate, pressing his thumb to the small round screen. It's obvious that it's meant for a species with far larger appendages than Lance's own, but it lights up gold after a few seconds in an obvious display of confirmation.

"Thank you," Lance says, still holding one of Keith's charts protectively to his chest.

"You are welcome. But I must warn you: such knowledge is not easily thrown aside. In my tenure as a healer I have witnessed similar circumstances, and burying the truth never ends well."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

It's a lie, and Lance can tell the healer knows it.

+++

It's Day Five of Keith being unconscious, the waiting-game chipping away what remains at Lance's sanity, before there's finally a change:

Keith's bruised eyelids begin to flutter, and Lance jumps, having slipped into a semi-coherent state of Keith-watching. He stands to lean over the bed, one hand pushing back dark, unruly hair from Keith's forehead.

"Come on," he mutters, voice hoarse. "You better wake the hell up, you bastard."

It's the scowl that begins to form on Keith's still-sleeping face that truly gives Lance hope.

"What the hell happened to me?" Keith finally rasps, eyes peeking open before immediately slamming shut. "Oh my God, _my head."_

Lance leaps up to grab a bottle of water that's already been pre-medicated with pain-killers; Keith manages to take a few sips with Lance supporting his head before nodding gratefully, and Lance helps him settle back down.

"You had a bad hit," Lance says, answering Keith's earlier question. "Battle cruiser literally blew-up in your face."

"It wouldn't be the first time something exploded in my face," Keith says, eyes still scrunched shut in pain. But there's a small upward torque to his mouth.

"Har-har, you're hilarious."

"Funnier than you," Keith says, words already beginning to slur with the medication.

Lance bites his lips, scared to let him go back to sleep, afraid that this is the last conversation they'll ever have, even if healers insist that Keith's brain is healed.

"Keith."

"Hmm?"

Lance hesitates, watching for a minute as Keith's breathing evens out, as he settles into a doze far more like himself than the one earlier.

"I love you," he finally whispers. He's sure Keith can't hear him, that he's already sailed back into the abyss of unconsciousness.

"'mm... took you long 'nough," Keith murmurs blearily, a few beats later, and Lance jumps. "Love... you, too."

Lance gives a bark of surprised laughter that might also be a sob. "You could've said it first, asshole."

"Knew... you'd cave, first... sensitive one."

"Competitive prick."

But Lance isn't good at pretending to be mad when Keith is hurt, so when Keith's right hand fumbles blindly toward him he just takes it in both of his and kisses the scarred palm.

+++

Two weeks later, Keith leans against the doorway of the main ship's galley and frowns, arms crossed. "Okay, spit it out," he says.

"Wow," Lance says around a mouthful of Altean bran-like product. "Haven't heard you say that since I started sucking your cock."

Pidge very pointedly gets up from the breakfast table and leaves the room.

Keith rolls his eyes. "No sex-jokes, we're having a Big-People conversation. And you know what I meant."

"Uh, I'm positive that I don't. I'm just a pretty face, there is absolutely nothing going on upstairs-"

_"Lance."_

Lance nervously swallows his breakfast. "Look, you nearly _died._ I'm allowed to be a little more weird than usual."

"I've nearly died a lot, and so have you. You're not normally like this."

Lance claws one hand through his own hair. "Well, I guess this time just sucked way more than usual."

Keith furrows his brows and pads barefoot into room. He stops at Lance's table, gracefully hoisting himself to sit in front of the other man. "Lance, stop being stupid and tell me what happened while I was out." The words seem a little harsh, but the tone is soft. Keith is just that way: all hard words and good intentions. "You've never kept things from me before." This last bit is actually said with a bit of hurt, and Lance feels like a Grade-A douche-bag.

"Hey," he says, slapping a hand down on Keith's thigh and giving it a squeeze. "It doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is that you're alive."

Keith scowls and shakes his head. "That's bullshit. If something bad happened to you down there, then _you need to tell me about it."_

"Nothing bad happened to me! I just... I saw something I wasn't ready to see."

"Hey, guys! Have you seen-?" Hunk interjects, popping into the room.

"Give us a minute," Keith deadpans.

"Okay, I'll catch you later!" Hunk says, swiveling around and exiting with both hands over his ears.

Lance sighs, shuffling so that he can wrap his arms around Keith's waist. Keith's hands grip his biceps, surprised; they're not usually this purely-affectionate, especially in public areas.

"You know that I fucking love you, right?" Lance says, voice muffled against the other man's stomach.

"Lance..." Keith's voice is strained by barely-concealed alarm. "You're freaking me the fuck out."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do! I just-"

"Then trust me on this: trust me when I say that it isn't important right now, and if that changes in the future then I'll give you the whole shebang."

There's a pause in which Lance listens to the sound of Keith's heart thudding in his torso. "Fine," Keith finally grumbles out, and Lance sags in relief. "But for the record, I'm _pissed_ about it."

"Awesome, so nothing's changed."

Keith makes a swipe for his head. Lance dodges and grabs a handful of Keith's work-out shirt, yanking him down to straddle his lap. He wonders how many paladins and Alteans they can traumatize before they finally have to leave the room.

Because the serious, life-altering shit can wait for a while;

Lance likes his life the way it is.


End file.
